


Conversations about the Weather

by mnemosyne



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:58:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemosyne/pseuds/mnemosyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bethany joins the Grey Wardens, turns up at Vigil’s Keep, and discovers that you can find family anywhere, if you try. Literally, sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conversations about the Weather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minorearth (seimaisin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/gifts).



There was a line somewhere, about never meeting your heroes, because you’ll inevitably be disappointed when you do. Something about reality never quite matching up to the legend. The trouble with lines like those, Bethany thought, was the idea that the reality, the one that was more mundane, the one that was greyer in morality, pimpled and grubby and tangible, had to be the one that was worse.

“I know you!” A man had called across to her when she arrived at Vigil’s Keep. “At least, I think I must know you.” His mouth twisted thoughtfully, as he hurried towards them, as if he was ransacking his memory for Bethany’s name.

“This is Bethany, Commander,” Stroud had explained, “From Kirkwall. She’s… one of our new recruits.”

“Didn’t think we were getting any,” the man had said, cheerily. Then, frowning. “Bethany… not Bethany Hawke?”

“Is that a problem?”

The man grinned then, wide and welcoming, and Bethany had felt the shard of cold in her heart that had been present since she’d first set foot in the Deep Roads start to shatter around the edges.

“Hardly,  _cousin_. Garrick Amell. You… probably don’t remember me. I think you were four when we last met.”

 “And I still look enough like myself for you to recognise me?” She’d asked, and knew she was staring.

“Maker no,” Garrick told her, taking both her hands in his, “but you look at awful lot like my mother.”

***

“We came through Lothering, you know.”

Bethany looked up from her book, towards the doorway; where one of the other wardens was leaning uncomfortably against its wooden frame. She knew this one, her cousin had taken her to meet him on the day she arrived, had dragged her over excitedly to meet his friend. Incredulous faces had watched whilst this unknown new recruit was introduced to Alistair Theirin, the man who might once have been their king, with the Hero of Ferelden’s arms slung around both of their shoulders. She swung her legs to the floor, bare feet protesting at the cold floor, and carefully shut her book, a brown speckled feather a makeshift placeholder.

“I didn’t see you there,” Alistair continued. “And I thought we’d spoken to pretty much everyone. More than once, sometimes.”

“I’m sure we all had bigger things to worry about,” Bethany replied. “Housework, bandits, not getting eaten by darkspawn…”

“And templars, I suppose?”

Bethany shrugged. “I suppose.”

Alistair had made no move to enter the room; he glanced around it as if he was expecting someone to jump out at him from behind one of the bunks. Bethany frowned, kicked a leg out to hook around a stool and draw it close to her. The older man flinched at the unexpected noise.

“Was there something you needed?” She asked. “The commander said he hadn’t got any duties for me this afternoon.”

“Not  _as_ such, no.” Alistair eyed the stool. A flicker of something passed his features, and Bethany watched as an entire internal conversation seemed to play out over the muscles of his face. Evidently, the jutted jaw seemed to win, and Alistair crossed over to her, sat himself down on the stool and leaned back against the rough wood of the wall.

“I wanted to talk to you. About Garrick.” he said, and tilted his head in a manner that might have been called conspiratorial, had it not been so uncertain. “Well, maybe not about Garrick. About you.”

“Did my cousin send you?”

“No! No. Not at all.” Alistair bit his lip. “Well. No. A bit.”

“Yes, then.”

“…Yes. He did. You and I are going to pretend I didn’t just say that. He’s worried.” He paused. “I didn’t say that either.”

“I’m fine.”

Alistair scrubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. “I have never been particularly good at, you know, knowing when people want to talk about their feelings. Do you… want to talk about-”

“Not… particularly?”

There was a distinctly audible sigh of relief that was rapidly turned into a cough; Bethany rolled her eyes. “Do you?” she asked. Alistair grinned sheepishly.

“No. But Garrick wanted someone he trusted to check in on you and well, here I am. Could have been worse. Could have been scary Velanna. Or Oghren. Oghren’s a  _sharer_.”

“That much, I’ve already found out,” Bethany told him. “I’ve never known anyone quite… like him.”

“Honestly, he’s got a good heart, under all the beard and stickiness. He was there on the top, you know, right at the end. I think he would have taken the killing blow himself if he could.”

“I’ll take your word on that,” Bethany replied. “And we’ll see.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only by Alistair awkwardly clearing his throat and picking up a letter Bethany had started to write. Seeing her expression, he hastily put it back down again and looked away. He was a strange one, Bethany had decided almost as soon as they’d met, almost aggressively ordinary in his way, as if every fibre of him rebelled against the idea that he could have been part of any legend. She softened slightly.

“I can’t imagine what it was like being up there,” she said. As he turned his face back towards her, she studied him for a moment; he was younger than she’d imagined, from the stories that were going around, much younger than her cousin, but there was something shadowed in his eyes that struck a familiar chord. She knew that look; there was something of it in Aveline’s face when she spoke about her life before. Without realising, a small sigh escaped her lips. She missed Aveline.

“Homesickness is part of the deal, I’m afraid,” Alistair reached out, touched a warm hand against her forearm, “even for those of us who didn’t really have much of a home to begin with.”

“We were barely in Kirkwall long enough to call it home,” Bethany replied, not looking at him. “But I miss Mother. And my sister.”

“Of course you do.”

Her heart ached suddenly, violently, and it was all she could do not to gasp out loud. Alistair’s outstretched fingers pressed more heavily against her, his palm flat; she let her own wrap up and around his wrist. “I’ve never been apart from them before.”

“See. I can’t imagine what  _that_  feels like,” he told her gently, “we’re just hopelessly worlds apart, you and me. It’s a wonder we’re even talking.”

Despite herself, Bethany smiled. Breathing deep, she looked up into the older warden’s face, the smooth, boyish features crinkled with concern. “You don’t have a family?”

Alistair shook his head. “No, I do. We’re just…” He shrugged. “The Wardens became my family a long time ago.”

“It can’t have been that long. Unless we recruit children.”

“Judging by how long some of the Orlesians have been serving – as, I hasten to add in a wearied, long suffering tone, they are so constantly keen to remind us - I wouldn’t be surprised. But I guess you’re right. It’s amazing how much a Blight will age you. Between you and me, I think I’m going grey.”

“It’s a distinguished look,” Bethany said, “so I wouldn’t worry.”

Alistair patted her arm. “Aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine,” he said.

“That’s what they tell me,” Bethany replied, smiling.

***

He was gone the next morning when she rose for breakfast, and gone alone, Bethany noted with surprise. The rest of the contingent he had arrived with were still there, too loud, too raucous for this hour of the morning. From the corner of her eye, she could see Nathaniel slumping in his chair, evidently feeling the same thing she was. She grinned, saluted him with a mug, and did not miss the look of anguish that crossed his face when Oghren planted himself beside him, and swung a jovial fist into his upper arm.

It was hours later, in the training grounds, where one of the senior wardens, a young dwarf with a wicked grin and lightning fast reflexes, was showing the new recruits exactly how far they absolutely could not trust their own armour, that Bethany realised she was wrong. The commander was missing also; strange, she thought, that there had been no announcement made. Sigrun only shrugged when she asked, cheerfully replying something about everyone having their secrets before Bethany found herself on her back, a dagger poised half an inch from her throat.

“You’d think mages wouldn’t let people get so close, what with your big sticks and all,” the dwarf said. Bethany glared at her, and with a quick movement of her wrist, knocked her backwards across the grounds. A smatter of dismayed gasps echoed in the courtyard. Sigrun merely bounced to her feet and twirled a blade in her hand.

“Not bad, Hawke,” she said, eyes sparkling. “So why didn’t you do that the first time?”

 _One_ , Bethany thought, and picked herself from the ground. The dwarf was not going to get  _two_.

It was late before the warden-commander and Alistair returned, heads bowed low together as they entered the Keep. Many of the other wardens had already turned in for the night, but Bethany had remained awake, walking the corridors, a quiet patrol that she had already waved Nathaniel’s concern from.

“It’s late for you to be up, cousin,” Garrick said, amiably. “Are we not working you hard enough?”

“My bruises,” Bethany replied, “are having a masquerade ball.”

“I’m sure there’s a joke to be made there,” Alistair frowned, “probably involving my dashing Orlesian accent. But I’m too damned tired to think of it now.” He lightly smacked Garrick on the arm. “You two give me a few days, I’ll come up with something brilliant, you’ll see. You’ll be in awe. There’ll be statues of me across Ferelden.” He yawned. “Right now though, I need to go to bed.”

He clattered away, and Garrick winced at the tracks of mud his boots took with him. Looking down at his own state, he groaned, turned, and rested his head on Bethany’s shoulder. Awkwardly, she patted his head.

“Where were you?” she asked. Garrick mumbled something into her collarbone, and she stepped away, steadying him as he fell forwards.

“Memorial,” he said at her questioning look. “Warden thing.”

“I’m a warden,” she reminded him. His lips pursed.

“Ostagar thing,” he said. A sigh escaped him, and he closed his eyes. “We didn’t really feel like sharing.”

Bethany bit her lip.  _Ostagar_. “I remember,” she said. “Carver and Rho said it was a bloodbath.”

A shadow passed over her cousin’s face. “I’d forgotten they were there,” he said softly. “Sometimes it feels like Alistair and I were the only ones who left that place.” He leaned down, kissed his cousin gently on the cheek. “Thank you for waiting up for us,” he said.

“I wasn’t-”

But Garrick was gone. Bethany’s heart thumped in her chest, and a low ache began to spread through the base of her skull. For the best, she thought. She had never been particularly good at lying.

***

It was some days later that Bethany found herself wandering down to the lake, roused from her sleep. A small group of them had gone on patrol, safe and simple. No darkspawn, not even a bandit to test themselves against. When they’d gone to camp in the evening, their medical supplies were left untouched, save for the odd nettle sting. It had been almost peaceful.

The nightmare had started as soon as she’d closed her eyes.  _Fire_ , an ogre, blood and the sound of her mother screaming. The sickening thump of dead flesh on hard stone, the taste of bile in her mouth, and his face. His face staring, just staring at her.

She’d woken violently, and hurried from her tent, trying not to disturb anyone else as she emptied the contents of her stomach behind a small boulder. There was no going back to bed that night, she knew.

Bethany wiggled her toes in the water, eyes closed against the icy night breeze. Her hands and feet were beginning to freeze, but she liked it, the feel of something real against her skin, chasing away the spectres in her mind’s eye.

“Have you gone completely mad?” An urgent whisper intruded on her thoughts and she snapped her body round, yanking herself from the ground, one hand already reaching for her staff. She stopped in her tracks when the moonlight revealed who the speaker was.

Alistair raised his hands, palms high. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he said, “but you are being a  _little bit_ strange. Your feet are going to fall off if you stay there much longer, you know. I’ve seen it happen. It’s not pleasant.”

Bethany relaxed, let herself sink to the ground again; after a moment, Alistair joined her, one leg stretched out, foot almost touching the water, the bulk of him close enough that she could feel the warmth that seemed to always radiate from him against her side. “I had another nightmare,” she said, “they don’t come as often anymore, but when they do…” She grimaced.

“Bad?”

She nodded. “I don’t think it was a darkspawn dream though. It was about Carver.”

“Ah,” Alistair’s mouth twisted in concern, “I’m sorry, it must have been hard-”

“Don’t.” Her hand was on his arm, almost before she thought about it. The coarse material of his cloak scratching beneath her fingers. “It’s ok. I already had all these conversations with-”  _with my friends_ , she thought, and stopped. “With everyone. I understand, you all feel badly for me.” Alistair’s sleeve tightened in her grip. “And I appreciate it, honestly I do. I just-” she shook her head, looked down at her feet. “It was just a nightmare. I’ve had worse.  _You_ ’ _ve_ had worse. Please don’t tell me I’m brave. Tell me anything else. Just not that.”

“I have a sibling,” Alistair said suddenly. “A sister. Goldanna’s her name. We’re not close or anything. She lives in Denerim.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned her.”

“Like I said, we’re not close. I only met her last year and we didn’t exactly hit it off. I’m not sure how I’d feel if something happened to her though.” He frowned. “You know, I’ve never really even thought about it until now.”

“I’m glad I could do that for you,” Bethany said, and the older warden chuckled. “Have you tried to see her again?”

“No. She’s written, since. Wants to talk, but you know…” his voice trailed off, and he gazed absently at the water, fingers picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. He didn’t seem to notice his hand brushing close to Bethany’s, but she watched the movement, let her own hand rest still where it was. “I came a bit too close to being king. I wonder if she only wants my name, not me.”

“Because being the sister of the one man in the kingdom the queen definitely ought to have executed is exactly the most sensible person to be.”

Alistair looked at her, eyebrows raised. Bethany shrugged. “I’m not saying I  _want_ Queen Anora to execute you.”

“What a relief.”

“Maybe you should speak to her,” she said. “What could be the harm in doing that?”

“I’m not sure we’re exactly cut out for happily ever after.”

“We’re Grey Wardens now,” Bethany’s fingers curled into Alistair’s, still soft against his calloused skin. After a moment, his own hand wrapped around hers, one thumb resting against the pulse at her wrist. “Seems to me like we’re lucky if we get an ever after at all.”

***

She found him in the library, head bowed over a thick tome, a stack of several more piled beside him. Not for the first time, as she watched his face crease with concentration, Bethany wondered what might have happened to the man, had he stayed in the Chantry. She couldn’t imagine him a Templar. Maybe that would have made him a good one.

“What do you have there?” she asked, walking over. She leaned one hip against the desk. “If I’m not interrupting of course.”

There was a strangled sound of frustration, and it was all she could do not to laugh as Alistair turned an expression of abject misery towards her. “Do you want to go live in a cave?” he asked.

“ _What_?”

“A cave. On a hill. It’d be lovely. I could attempt to catch rabbits for dinner, and then you could turn up and be more capable than me at survival things and actually catch the rabbits and I’d wallop any bandits tried to steal the rabbits and you’d be all ‘Oh Alistair, that was some very handsome walloping you just did’ and then we’d sit down to have a nice meal of rabbit stew.”

“Garrick has you doing accounts again, doesn’t he?”

“Your cousin is a sadistic bastard. Just because he wanted to go gallivanting off in the farmlands with his friends.”

“I heard that there was a problem with a group of drakes attacking a hamlet.”

Alistair kicked the desk. “Well, yes.”

“They burned down three barns and a stable.”

“That too.”

“How come you’re not with them anyway? You two are usually,” Bethany clapped her hands together, peeked at Alistair from behind her closed hands.

“He took  _Nathaniel_.” Alistair pouted. “Apparently we can’t have all the senior-uh-est wardens out on the same thing. You know, sometimes I think he loves Nathaniel more than he loves me.”

“Your love is true and epic, like the poems,” Bethany said, and patted Alistair’s arm. “One day, the people shall sing songs about it in taverns.”

“I sense sarcasm,” he replied. “But also a modicum of potential brilliance.” He grinned. “I could hire my own bard to remind him I’m his favourite.”

Bethany laughed, “The trouble is, I can see you doing that.”

“You say  _trouble_ , I say, a truly wonderful sign of our relationship.”

“On that note, you do realise that you just invited me to live with you? In a  _cave_.”

The tips of Alistair’s ears turned pink; for a moment, Bethany wished she hadn’t said it. She’d only meant to tease, but there was a seriousness in the catch of his lower lip between his teeth. Alistair looked back down at the book, then up at her. The back of her neck prickled at the look in his eyes, a heat spreading up to her cheeks.

“I’d have you live in a palace,” he said, “if I could.” He laughed quickly, looking away again. “You deserve a palace.”

“I’ve never wanted a palace,” she replied, “not really.”

When he looked up at her again, she could not help but to lean down into the kiss.

***

It was amazing, Bethany thought, how the days passed in the wardens.

She started to feel the patterns build, would wake in the mornings and seem to know which days were going to be good, and which she would end covered in blood and filth and everything in between. This day had been the latter, and her patrol were stretched out now on the banks of a lake, taking it in shifts to scrub darkspawn from their bodies.

“You’re not even a little bit ordinary, are you?” Bethany said. Alistair’s fingers stilled in her hair, pausing the carding through of her matted locks. She looked up at him from where her head lay rested in his lap. He’d complained a little when they’d first sat down, but she’d pointed out that they were both as grime-covered as each other and it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference anyway.

“Is that… good?” he asked, forehead already wrinkling. She grinned back at his concerned expression, reached a small hand to cup his jaw.

“I’d like to think so,” she said, “I’d never have settled for ordinary.”

“Well then,” Alistair replied, covering her hand with his, dropping a quick kiss to her fingertips, “Bethany Hawke, you’re rather extraordinary yourself.”

“Well, yes,” she said, thoughtfully. “I suppose I am.”

A shout sounded somewhere beyond the treeline, and a familiar creeping sensation started in the pit of Bethany’s stomach.

“Duty calls,” she said, leaning up on her elbows.

“After you, love,” replied Alistair.


End file.
